


The Supereffective Shark and the Steadfast Dinosaur

by Anonymous



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
Genre: Beast x Beast, First Time, Interspecies Sex, M/M, Pokemon/Pokemon Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:29:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22047172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: It's totally normal to socialize after a battle, Garchomp insists.
Relationships: Garchomp/Tyranitar
Kudos: 13
Collections: PB Anon Meme - 2019





	The Supereffective Shark and the Steadfast Dinosaur

**Author's Note:**

> Couldn't help shipping these two sandstorm-happy monsters.

In this time they are a bit like legendaries, in the sense that they are one of kind. Certainly, they bred and evolved and yes, in theory an underevolution could claw its way to the top, but Arceus — and subsequently, the other legendaries — had made it very clear that they, as pseudo-legendaries and delegates — were to remain a step above their peers.

As a result of this rule, the caretaker of the second region is the first Tyranitar Garchomp sees. It is almost certainly the same case for the other pokémon, Garchomp sorely doubts any Gibles or Gabites managed to swim the distance between regions.

“I’m Garchomp,” he says by way of greeting, “Let’s fight.”

Tyranitar proves himself deserving of the nickname ‘mountain-mover’, rearing up on his hind legs to greet the challenger. A veritable wave of sand crashes forth in his wake and even with Garchomp’s heightened senses, even knowing that he was made to thrive in desert conditions, the sheer deluge overtakes him. For a moment.

“So,” the Tyranitar rumbles, “Another one, huh.”

He stretches his arms out and throws his head back, giving a massive roar that makes the nearby pokémon scatter and sends a shiver up Garchomp’s spine. Not one to be outdone, Garchomp retaliates with a roar of his own, somewhat deafened by the sandstorm but no less enthusiastic.

“Come on then!” Tyranitar demands, “Have at you!”

Fighting against Tyranitar is an experience unto itself, completely unlike his prior matches against the other delegates. For one, he’s not a Dragon, which means Garchomp can’t just fall back on Outrage. For another, he’s clearly built to withstand hits. Even with three solid blows, the other pokémon seems neither dazed nor weakened. Instead, there’s another rumble of laughter.

Furthermore, for a pokémon that was the slowest of their group, Tyranitar could certainly move when he needed to. Although he had no chance of outspeeding Garchomp, least of all in a heavy sandstorm, he manages to dive into the sand and Garchomp wastes quite some time in a fruitless search before baiting the other out. He takes a point-blank Crunch and retaliates with an Earthquake and damn, finally, a move that does damage. Tyranitar grunts in surprise and Garchomp makes the mistake of thinking the other would retreat.

Instead, the desert itself rushes up at him, at them, and through the sea of sand, he feels an unmistakable shiver — the call of ice — and by then it’s too late to run or dodge or do anything but take the Ice Punch.

Garchomp howls in pain, in frustration, in fury. How dare he, how dare he, how dare he! He should have used Superpower (nevermind that it was impossible for him), he should have been more patient, he should have held onto a Yache Berry —

He should have won.

Except as his vision is fading, he sees the Tyranitar draw his fist back and look at wounded arm. There’s another flash of pain before he keels over as well and Garchomp can’t keep himself upright, much less the both of them, and so they topple into the desert sands.

–

It’s a draw. Their first match is a goddamn draw.

-

When Garchomp wakes, he finds himself in a tiny cave, more like a hallowed-out section of a rock, really, with the sandstorm still brewing outside and his sparring partner curled up against the fire.

He’s sore and bruised, both inside and out, and his pride is not much helped by the idea of his opponent dragging him to safety.

A glance at the dozing Tyranitar is enough to keep him from rousing the other. He sees scratches and cuts, most which weren’t his own, and wonders how the other had fared against the other challengers. He knew the upstart from the seventh region — Kommo-o — was also going from place to place. Would the pair from the third region follow suit? Last Garchomp checked, they were too busy settling their own score to travel.

He’s left to stare at the embers and rub at his own wounds for a while, until the Tyranitar eventually stirs, eyes fluttering open to see the fire before looking up to see the cave’s other occupant. Garchomp notes how the other’s muscles tense; can feel himself reacting in a similar fashion.

“Still here?” the other asks.

“Mm,” Garchomp answers, still irritated in the immediate aftermath of a loss.

“It was a draw,” Tyranitar concedes, as if his pride wouldn’t allow him to drop the subject. “I couldn’t stand after that Ice Punch.”

“Yeah, well,” although his tone is lighter (less gruff, at least), his mood is still shadowed, “Rough Skin’s a bitch, the more you know.”

“I see,” the Tyranitar turned back to the fire, scooting closer to absorb more of its warmth, “I’ve never seen it before.”

“You’ve got Sand Stream, right?” Garchomp counters, “There’s a pokémon with it in Sinnoh too. Hippopowdon. Nasty little thing.”

Tyranitar blinks, looking back at him. If he had ears, he would have perked them; as it is, he simply looks alert.

“Another?” he repeats, “Someone else has the same exact ability?”

“Mm. In Sinnoh. No clue about the other regions.”

“How far is Sinnoh?”

Garchomp laughs, “You thinking of swimming there? Or flying?”

“How far is it?” Tyranitar persists.

“…Can you swim?”

“Haven’t tried.”

The initial question remains and Garchomp sighs, “It took three days to fly over, I have no idea how long it’ll take with you swimming.” The idea of a mountain mover submerging in the ocean was amusing enough… Garchomp half expects the other will drown in the attempt.

Oddly enough, the idea of one of his fellow pseudo’s drowning, even one that he had just met and fought to an infuriating draw, is not especially amusing. To distract himself from the image, he nods instead at the fire (which Tyranitar was staring at once more, enraptured) and asks: “So are you always cold?”

Another rumbling chuckle.

“No. Never.”

“Isn’t it dangerous then?” he asks, scratching absent-mindedly at the dirt.

“What’s there to burn?”

“You.” He pauses, confused, “Aren’t you Steel-type? Like Metagross?”

Tyranitar looks back at him before chuckling. “I’m Rock and Dark. Disappointed?”

Garchomp silently curses not being able to learn Superpower. Forget Dragon Dance altogether, maybe a simple Brick Break would be enough to take this opponent down!

-

How it happens is anyone’s guess. Well, it’s a matter of the situation. They’re crowded in a tiny space, there’s a fire flickering (which, against Garchomp’s better judgment, really makes for a intriguing light), the sandstorm continues to rage, and neither of them are in any condition to fight.

Oh, alright, and Tyranitar is just lying there, on his goddamn belly, and if that’s not asking for it, Garchomp doesn’t know what is.

He approaches the other with as much finesse as he had done for their sparring match. Which is to say he paces over before dropping to a crouch. He rubs his snout against the other’s rough but not exactly jagged back, testing the waters before sinking his fangs in.

Tyranitar arches up at the bite, curling his tail to give access. Garchomp is surprised by the willingness but the mood is too good to scrutinize. He digs his rows of teeth in deeper, crunching past the scales and skin, and Tyranitar practically purrs when blood drips out.

“I really,” Garchomp can’t resist teasing, even as he’s unsheathing himself and poking at the other’s entrance, “Didn’t take you as the type to be mounted.”

The other responds with a muted growl, clawing at the cavern floor while swishing his great tail this way and that. When Garchomp finally eases his way in, Tyranitar tightens on him, rasping and rumbling and Arceus, just feeling the vibration is a beautiful thing.

“Yes,” Garchomp finds himself crooning as he rocks himself back and forth, “Yes, that’s it.” He twines their tails and surfaces for a bit before going back down to bite at the other shoulder. The pricks on his chest and stomach are digging into Tyranitar, to the point where his whole body is like an oversized burr, but damn if it doesn’t simplify the mounting process.

Tyranitar bucks and roars, gasping and panting, and Garchomp eventually humors him, reaching underneath them, likely cutting both of them in the process, and extracting his own aroused prick. His already-tight entrance squeezes near-shut and it’s the most glorious feeling.

Garchomp hisses, draws blood, wraps their tails ever tighter and watches Tyranitar extend all his claws, before he crests over his own peak as well.

Afterwards, when they’re cleaning themselves up, separately, as males of separate species tended to do (it wasn’t as if either of them needed more wounds), Garchomp takes not of the still-crackling fire. He snuffs it out on exiting, turning to say: “Next time I’ll win.”

The guardian of the second region snorts, but makes no move to respond.

And so, Garchomp takes to the skies, aching curiously in more ways than one.


End file.
